250 Years
by Torchix
Summary: It was that day again, that stupid bloody day. The day Arthur Kirkland dreaded every minute of the days before it.  July 4th. America's Independence day. Collab with Highla, not stolen! USUK, some language and overuse of alcohol by poor Iggy. One-Shot.


**Highla: Hiii!**

**Me: Hey! This is my first official collab with someone! Namely my friend Londie, from my real life (gasp! Yes, I have a life outside fanfiction! Miracle!), who goes by the name Highla here! This is for a fandom we both love, called Hetalia, and I am saying that to my usual readers if they read this, because I normally just write Pokémon. *sweatdrop* There is no dignified, defined way of telling who wrote what, since we took it in turns two write little bits, though I used country names to say who was speaking a lot more than she did. **

**To normal Hetalia fans, this is a usual July the 4****th**** fic, soppy and a little weird, but this is set in the future, yes, it is set in 2026, to make what Highla and I thought of work easier and make sense. And heh, the bosses are the current ones, even if I doubt it'll stay the same for another twelve years, because I wanted to, and they work for what we did. So… yeah.**

**250 years **

It was that day again, that stupid bloody day. The day Arthur Kirkland dreaded every minute of the days before it.

July 4th.

America's Independence Day.

The day he left him behind.

The day England lost him.

So here he was, bottles of every kind of strong alcohol you can name sitting around him on the table, many of them half drank, some empty, and the occasional few still full to the brim. He had lost count of how many he had drank, he didn't even care, this was the one day he drank so much, the one day he truly wanted to drown in beer and vodka, just to ignore the pain of the memories this day brought up.

The morning had not started well for him, he woke up at midnight, after only a few hours sleep, and could not return to close his eyes easily at all without the fear of a nightmare plaguing him now he realised what day it was. That same nightmare that he had every year on this day, where they were in the middle of the revolutionary war and the younger just... shot him. Shot him straight in the stomach and stood there while he bled. The bloody idiot would, every year, laugh in his face and walk off. He just left him alone to die. Ran off to his rebel soldiers and give his stupid bloody congratulation speech to them, his big victory chant, and they'd all chant along, with the slowly bleeding out Englishman behind them, not even caring he was dying or what turmoil the nation he belonged to could be thrown into if he died. Each time, he would scream out to America, calling him back for help, but he'd never come back. Ever.

Every time he felt as if he wouldn't care if it truly did happen, but every time his thoughts drifted to all that he had been involved in since...

And he soon woke up, his nightmare still haunting him, but him refusing to give into the urge to go to the American and ask him to shoot him, to see if he'd ever have had the true guts.

And of course, this lead to this. In earlier years, a few strong coffees would keep his mind off what was happening that day, what his old colony, old friend, was celebrating back in his home nation. How he could celebrate how much he did he never understood, did he not miss how they were before? He had never cared about his other colonies the way he had about America, his...little brother...? No... Not quite. But what did it matter now? He was independent, and no matter what he would never stop celebrating as extravagantly as he could.

...And of course, the jerk never seemed to take no for an answer when it came to invites. England was no exception, except he soon gave up picking up the phone to anyone on this day.

And as if it couldn't be bad enough, today was the two and a half centenary mark of the day he won his 'freedom'. Yes, it was 2026 already, time flew fast when you were a country, because there would rarely be an end to a nation.

England wondered if his own nation could have been one of the few to disappear if he had been killed by America that day...

"Damn it! Stop thinking about it! Idiot!" Arthur yelled at himself as he slammed a bottle against the table, causing it to shatter over the floor.

Thinking about it would only make it worse, and what was the bloody use in that?-! If he was going to keep thinking about it, there was little point in even doing anything else, as it would somehow all relate back to the stupid war! All he could do for the twenty four hours, often more when he took into account the time difference before the day would finish in the USA, was drink, drink, and drink s'more! No one would get into his house today, not anyone, no matter wh-...

"Mr. Kirkland? It's David Cameron! I need to speak to you about something!"

Oh just great, it was his boss. Just-as-sterotypically-British-as-he-could-get-without-actually-being-England Mr. Cameron. Arthur forced himself not to groan loudly and tell him to go get screwed, as he would probably get a lecture on how to be polite.

"Y-yes, Mr. Cameron, sir?" England looked around the room awkwardly and didn't pay much attention until the words 'revolutionary', 'speech', and 'Mr. F. Jones' were mentioned in the same sentence. "What did you just say?-! I'm not being in a room with that bloody idiot making a speech about the stupid revolutionary war in front of hundreds of freakin' idiots like him on my own!"

"You do not have a choice in the matter, Mr. Kirkland! You must be on that plane in an hour!"

"I'm the country here, jerk!"

"And I am your boss! You have to do as I say! Now get out of that house and buck up your ideas, that is no way to speak for a dignified gentleman such as yourself!" Cameron ordered, before he left the blonde nation alone. England cursed angrily under his breath as he began to pack his clothes, cross-stitching, crosswords and toiletries. Within half an hour, he was at the airport ready to board the plane.

~X~X~X~

"Good day, sir, may I ask where you're heading for?"

"Painful torture and a few days of bloody misery." The young woman turned quieter and looked him straight in the eye.

"No, love, I mean what country..."

"Oh, America. If I get hacked to chunks by a cowboy or hillbilly, you'll definitely know about it," he grumbled. The woman still didn't look very comfortable, but she checked him in properly and he was soon sitting off toward the jet, used especially for country matters, and on his way to first class seating. God, this was going to be the quiet before the storm...

...Great, he spoke too soon. He didn't even get any quiet, oh no, the gods were not out to help him that day.

"Hey, Dude! You came! I was wondering if that Mr. Cameron guy would ever convince you! Gee, you're always so grumpy! Come on! My boss is here too, so you have to greet him! Come on old timer!"

"Convince me? Freakin' CONVINCE ME?-! He forced me to come! _As if I would want to be here today - all I've had every year for two hundred and fifty years was you boasting about beating me when I couldn't bring myself to harm you! J-just go away!_" Well, he managed the first bit, but obviously wouldn't have the guts or the energy to scream the last bit out, especially considering that they hadn't even left the airport, and it was as full as a tea parade.

"Of course, of course..." The American seemed saddened for a moment, but after only a split second he was grinning and beaming with teeth flashing again, "Come on! Hurry up and get on the plane! Obama is waiting to greet ya! Hurry uuuup!" He grabbed the Briton's arm and dragged him towards the plane's entrance, humming 'Happy Birthday' to himself, soon followed by his national anthem. Arthur suppressed his drunken urge to punch him in the face so hard it would break his stupid, cute little nose... wait, did he just think that?-!

"Stupid drunken head..." He grumbled to himself, wrenching his arm from Alfred and walking ahead on his own, brushing some hair out of his eyes, hoping he wasn't too obviously drunk out of his mind. Not that it would matter to Alfred after the many times that he saw him drunk... On second thoughts, maybe it wasn't best to show his drunkenness today, as it would probably drive him to think that he was the hero. Again.

"Hey hey! We're here! Come on! The President waits for nobody! Ha ah ha ah!"

The annoying, obnoxious young American man continued, grabbing him again and forcing him to all but run to the doors of the plane. England was near ready to throw him off the bloody plane.

"There you are, Mr. Jones, Mr. Kirkland." Barack greeted in that smooth public speaking voice of his. Arthur tried his best to stand to attention in front of him, not wanting to look like a complete fool in front of Alfred's boss, even though there were thousands of things that he could say to embarrass him.

Alfred, however, seemed oblivious to Arthur's quietness. "Dude, I'm reaaaaaaaally hungry! Let's get some food, Iggy," the younger nation grinned.

Arthur sighed.

"You may as well take him, Mr. Kirkland, he'll never shut up otherwise," America's boss laughed. England nodded unwillingly. "Oh, and hold his hand, he has a tendency to run off around this time of year." He nodded again and grabbed Alfred's hand tightly, still not willing, but trying not to show it.

"Come on, Iggy, let's go to Sonic, or Burger King, or McDonalds, or-"

"Do you ever stop talking?-!" Before he realised what was happening, he felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes, that pathetic stinging feeling in his head. In one quick movement, he had wiped the tears away and was looking directly into America's eyes.

"Woooaahhh... Iggy, are you okay?" England nodded.

"J-just got a bit of a headache and some h-hay fever..."

Silence just for a moment, then the worry was gone from America's cerulean blue eyes, and he was grinning again. "Come on then! Stop wasting time, I'm hungry!"  
>"You idiot, we can't run off if we're on a tight schedule anyway! We'll have- <em>you'll<em> have to eat on the plane!" England said, already fed up for this and letting go of the America's hand, storming back toward the plane and past the greatly amused American president. _Stupid bloody Americans_, he thought.  
>America whined as he followed after Arthur. "But Iggy! Aeroplane food is disgusting! Even worse than yours!" It took most of his restraint not to punch him, again. God how was he going to survive a week in America, especially doing what he had to do?<p>

_Just leave me alone, bloody idiot! _England thought to himself as he grabbed Alfred's hand again and dragged him onto the plane.

"Igggyyyyy! Let me go!" America whined as he was forced into a chair and strapped in. Arthur completely ignored the whining from him as he sat in the window seat and threw a bag of candies at him.  
>"I swear, Alfred-"<br>"I know you do," said nation smirked, and was 'rewarded' for his remark by a slap across the back of his head.  
>"Don't interrupt me! I swear, you'd better not say that I don't bloody do anything for you. Those were for special occasions."<br>"Like my birthday?" America smiled as he looked deep into England's emerald eyes. Arthur almost felt something, something... nice...  
>Nope, it was completely wrecked when the younger nation spilled all of the candies down his shirt, leaving sticky marks and a floor of melted sweets.<br>"America! What the hell have you done?-!" England almost screamed. "You're covered now, and it's all over your seat!"  
>"Sheesh, calm down, it was only a box of candies..."<br>_Actually,_ England thought, _those were your favourite candies when you were a child, and they were all I could find you for your birthday...  
><em>"I'm going to sleep," he announced instead, before turning around and attempting to sleep.  
>As usual, the nightmare started again, this time ending with America stabbing him in the heart. Why the heart this time after years of it being in the stomach?<p>

Maybe it was just his drunkenness playing on his mind, that was all, he was just being a drunken old git and his dreams were just a stupid reflection of how much alcohol was in his system. God he hoped the plane supplied some Whiskey, as soon as America wasn't looking he would surely need some. Stupid prat.

His eyes opened, and he was still facing away from America, which he was instantly grateful for seeing he had tears flowing from his emerald eyes, which there was no chance he was letting America see. He rubbed is eyes, and looked back to Alfred, seeing him energetically discussing the speeches and other issues with his boss, not even realising the Briton had woken up. God, he would've even preferred staying at home with bloody Angus 'Mc' Kirkland, Bryson Kirkland, and Ayden Kirkland, his annoying three brothers (Scotland, Wales and Northern Island respectively), then be here right now, and god knows he hates those gits.

Suddenly, he heard America say his name. England listened carefully to what was being said.

"He really hates this time of the year, you know? When I was younger, he was so sweet and used to act all fatherly all year round, and I loved him for that. But after the revolutionary war... Well, he's been acting strangely. Anyway, gotta get on with some business, bye, guys." The cheery voice had had a slight element of pain in it during the talk, but once the other Americans had gone, Alfred began to talk to Arthur. "You know, Iggy, I always thought you were perfect. Never really a big brother, more like a saviour. I wouldn't admit it if you were awake, but you were kinda the best thing in my life until that war. Then you turned into a complete asshole."

England wasn't sure whether to be happy that America was saying nice things for once, or angry about what he had just been called, but made sure that he was quiet for the sake of the (one-sided) conversation.

"I'd just like to say that I really love-" Arthur turned around in his seat and opened his eyes, causing America to gain a shocked expression and a loss of words. "Uh... Pie! I really love pie!" The younger nation laughed awkwardly.  
>"And why did I need to know your feelings towards pie?"<br>"Uhm... You love pie too?"

Arthur sighed, "Alfred, shut up, I still have a killer headache..." He rubbed his temples and leant back in his chair, but keeping his eyes open, wishing the American would ignore him again so he could get some more damn alcohol. This flight was going to seem even longer than usual. God, why was god being so cruel, today of all days? Any other day he could handle this, just not today. God he needed whiskey... or Vodka, yeah, vodka, he hated the stuff but it was damn well strong.  
>God he bets the weather in England resembles his mood right now, downright horrid. Serves Cameron and his stupid government right for sending him off to do this. No doubt the speeches would be made in front of the White House, no doubt he would be yelled at, booed and have things thrown at him, no doubt he would make a fool of himself, no doubt America would be a wanker and give the cheeriest victory speech ever, just like at the 100 year mark... no doubt this would be ten times worse, though.<br>"Hey, dude, how're your big brothers now?" America asked. The British nation didn't know if he was genuinely asking, or annoyingly trying to start conversation.

"All of my brothers hate me. Every single one of them. And there's not a single thing that I can do." Alfred seemed confused.  
>"But I like you..."<br>"And we aren't related. By law, by marriage, by anything. Besides, you don't." England immediately put headphones in and began to listen to some random 80's music. A few seconds in and... Great, Alice in Chains. Formed in America. Singing 'Man in the Box'. Talking about being forgotten. Relating to England. He quickly turned the music off before he began to sob like a little child again and stood up. "I'm g-going to the bathroom..."  
>America seemed confused. "Why? You went before we left..."<p>

England had already made his way to the bathroom and began violently throwing up. It must have been from the alcohol... yeah, the alcohol must have done it - it couldn't have possibly been because of America or anything...  
>Ugh, it tasted vile. Arthur flushed the toilet and quickly swilled his mouth out with some water before heading back to his seat. Alfred greeted him again with a cheery smile.<p>

He didn't look at him for long, he just sat down and called over the onboard waitress, not even caring if he was seen drinking now, it's not like America know how much he had already drank that morning, so he quickly took a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, pouring himself a shot and downing it.

America had already lost focus on him, he was too busy cheering to himself about his birthday, and soon beginning to play some video game on that wretched gaming device of his. He didn't really care, that was for sure, he must have actually dreamt what America was saying earlier. No way did he care.

Another shot and another were drowned, America never even so much as glancing up from his game. God, at least if he was with his jerks of brothers he'd have someone who drank as much as him around, and someone who could actually tear the drink away, even if with his brothers it was only ever because they didn't want him making stupid political decisions about them when he was drunk.

_Bloody wanker... _he thought to himself as he downed another shot, sneakily hiding the bottle from America's boss when he peeked into the area the two countries were sat.

America, being the idiot he was, swung around and knocked the bottle from England's hands with his bag. "You bloody idiot!" Arthur shouted at America, as he tried to mop the liquid from his lap with the endless amount of tissues that he had brought with him.  
>"Dude, I'm sorry... But what was that liquid?" Arthur blushed. "Was it alcohol?" Alfred looked concerned. England turned away from him quickly.<br>"I-I'm troubled..."  
>"By what?" Arthur could feel his cheeks burning up. How the hell could he be so bloody oblivious?-! He coughed awkwardly, however and came up with a cover story.<br>"F-family problems." Alfred shrugged and turned back to his boss as England began to tear up and gradually turn away. When the younger nation noticed, he grabbed Arthur's shoulder and forcefully pulled him to face. "Tell me now what's wrong. Don't you dare lie, Arthur Kirkland, or there will be serious trouble."  
>The cerulean eyes flashed with worry and pain as America put on his serious face for the first time in what seemed like decades.<p>

"It... it's nothing, I told you... family issues... Scotland still trying to get total independence and all, I may hate the wanker but family is family..." He lied again, turning away again, "Just forget it, keep playing your game, we're nearly there..." He'd have to have some more vodka later to forget this plane ride.  
>Alfred wasn't totally convinced, but being the childish nation he was he shrugged it off and with his usual hearty laugh he turned back to Obama and continued to talk to him. Why did he have to have the boss that could actually be... well... not be a prick?<br>Arthur was relieved the alcohol was making the flight go fast, probably helped by the fact this was classed as a priority flight and they could get there much quicker than passenger planes.

~X~X~X~

They soon arrived at their destination, and Arthur immediately felt sick again, and even more as they neared the venue. Obama turned to both of them. "Okay, so Mr. Jones is first, then Mr. Kirkland. Say your speeches, wait to be applauded, then exit the stage to the right. Make sure you enter to the left, though, cuz otherwise, you'll look like a bit of an idiot." He smiled warmly before leaving the two nations alone.  
>Alfred climbed up onto the stage and cleared his throat.<br>"Hello there, all, I'd like to welcome you to our Independence Day Two-hundred-and-fiftieth Year Anniversary Speeches with me - Alfred F. Jones - and one of the English - Mr. Arthur Kirkland.  
>"To begin with, I'm going to start by describing the scene." He paused. "It was a cold night, the rain lashing down and drenching our uniforms. Me and him both moved forward to attack together, but somewhere along the line, my gun had 'ninja'ed out of my hands and onto the floor. Mr. Kirkland pointed his gun at me, but couldn't bring himself to shoot. See, we were once close enough to be siblings - I would say lovers, but that's just disgusting!" He chuckles before continuing with the describing speech.<p>

Arthur was barely stopping himself just punching him right there. Everyone had laughed at the lovers comment, and there seemed to be some momentary howls of disgust at the word lovers for two men, England knew this must just be from the few in the audience around them who were still homophobes, this didn't help him at all.

"The mighty empire just fell to his knees right in front of me, crying more than the rain falling! Heh, I kinda knew then it was all won, he couldn't shoot me, he never had the strength to kill someone like that, I knew that well! We won! The 'Great' Britain fell to his knees, and we had won! We were free! We were officially the heroes at last! And it's been so long but man who cares, we're still just a free as before and no one is ever taking that away from us! Ever!"

Cheers erupted from the audience, flags waved around more. England was haunted more by this, the scene too familiar to the day he had seen the people of his colonies cheer as they were 'released' from the harsh British rule.

"And now we have a totally awesome independence day to celebrate, away from harsh taxes and rules on our people, suppressing them from the freedom we all believe in! We've come a long way since freedom was won from the grumpy old British people, and finally we can celebrate a quarter of a whole thousand years freedom!"

God, he wasn't going to survive this speech.

As America walked off the stage and he walked on, he felt more ill than he had when he was actually throwing up on the plane.

"U-Uh... w-well... W-We British obviously didn't w-win that w-war..." He forced himself to ignore yells from the crowd of hurtful words and telling him to get to the point, all sorts of American curses thrown into the mix. "Th-That day... y-yes, it ra-rained... yes... we were drenched, and wh-who knows, I may not even have been able to fire that shot my gun powder w-was so wet... and yes, we were close, I had raised him as my brother... I... *sigh* I would never have sh-shot the i-idiot anyway..." More yells of protest, "But... ugh..." His head started to hurt, the alcohol continuing to take its toll, "And... I broke down like a b-baby... a-and he... h-he..." He didn't think he could take this, and he broke down again, but not in the same way as that day 250 years previous, he turned to the American nation and snarled once, "WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU JUST SHOOT ME?-!"

A stunned silence passed over the whole venue.

Arthur fled from the stage as tears reformed in his eyes, just like they had done all those years ago. As he ran towards what looked like an American bar, he thought about how this day, every single year, was his Friday 13th. Once in the bar, he found a key in the most obvious place - above the door - and locked the door, keeping the key in there so that no one could open it from the outside. England immediately made his way to the alcohol storage and began to drink the whiskey straight from the bottle, getting more down his jacket than in his mouth. "Why did I ever think that I'd ever love him ever?" he asked himself aloud "I bet he won't even come searching for me. I bet I'll die in here from kidney failure, even if that's highly unlikely for countries..."  
>There was suddenly a knock on the door. America's voice called in. "Iggy? Are you in here?" Said nation stayed as quiet as possible, only breathing again when the young nation's voice screaming, 'He's not here... Do you think he's hurt?' was distant.<p>

Arthur took a deep breath, closing his green eyes as he placed the bottle back to his lips and took a huge gulp of it, needing to forget what was happening. He took gulp after gulp after gulp, and he got more and more drunk as he did so. Bottles after bottles were smashed on the ground, some still half full when they did, the floor was littered with glass and he couldn't move from his spot without being hurt. He had never drunk this heavily in his years, ever, not even during the first few years of independence days for America.

He didn't know how long it had been when he started to hear fireworks, exploding with a loud bang and multicoloured sparkles he didn't dare look at. In shapes and just random explosions, they decorated the sky with red white and blue. How _patriotic._ Made England feel sick again.

"Wanker would never love me, an old stupid grumpy alcoholic git… it wasn't my fault we taxed them so much… I had to follow my king's orders…"

Arthur realised how childish he was suddenly being, but was also too stubborn to do anything about it. Besides, it should be America who was apologising. The pains in his chest had suddenly gone, thanks to the alcohol, but England was beginning to feel tired. As soon as the feeling registered to him, he found himself having that same bloody nightmare again. This time, though, the American walked into the building that he had been drinking in with a gun. "P-please, just shoot me and e-end my pain," Arthur sobbed. Alfred walked over to him and pushed he broken glass out of the way, before sitting down next to him. "Artie, what's wrong?"  
>"You know full well what's wrong..."<br>"No, I don't. My birthday hasn't upset you this much before. Yeah, I went a little over the top with the speech, but I thought you, being the strong one, would be able to handle it... I-I guess I was wrong." England rolled his eyes. The rain was lashing down on the roof of the building, proving that it was that nightmare again.  
>"Wow, you could be a detective, being able to work all of this out," he said sarcastically. The younger nation blushed.<br>"A-Artie, I came here to tell you t-that I l-love you..." Alfred stammered. Said nation stared. Yep, this was definitely a nightmare.  
>America quickly pecked the older nation's lips before grabbing the gun and leaving the bar.<p>

~X~X~X~

England awoke late the next morning, still surrounded by glass. The door was locked and there was little sign of rain outside, apart from the odd puddle. The Briton rubbed his forehead and sat up. What the hell had he been doing the night before - his head was pounding.

He looked around, and seeing the bottles he soon realised he must have gotten totally hammered the night before, completely and utterly hammered. He had never had a hangover this bad before, not once in his many, many years. Ugh... he felt so sick!  
>Stumbling out of the room over the broken glass, he opened the door, and somehow found himself finding his way toward a room in the hotel he was in, he didn't know why, must be something to do with why he was wherever he was. He pulled a key out and entered the room, finding a suitcase, his own, packed with his stuff no doubt, which he opened to get some aspirin for his head. Once he gulped twice the recommended human amount down, he sat on the bed, and turned on the TV. Maybe it would give away where he was.<p>

Great. Abso-bloody-lutely perfect. Footage showing the speeches from the previous day. Showing his embarrassment, his failure...  
>Showing America telling the audience that he speeches were over and the other officials that they needed to find him.<br>England felt himself tear up. Okay, maybe he had been a bit stupid when he told America to shoot him, but the footage had shown that Alfred wasn't just an oblivious child. He was... actually rather amazing...  
>Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. "Iggy, you in here?" The voice waited a few seconds for a reply before sighing. "Look, I know you're in there, I can hear the news... Anyway, I wanted to apologise for being such an idiot around this time of the year. I don't deserve to have you in my country right now, so, if you really want, you na go home. Mattie was a little upset when I told him that I'm just letting you go if you want, but it really is your choice." Arthur ran to the door and opened it.<p>

America stood there, face solemn but understanding, he looked so much more mature than he had only the day previous, he was even without that bomber jacket, just in a simple suit minus a jacket. He must have something on.

"I... I made an utter fool out of myself, didn't I? So much for a dignified nation... My boss is going to have my head on a silver, wait no, _golden_ platter..." He said.

"N-no you didn't, you just hate July 4th... Which you can't really be blamed for." The young American pushed his glasses back up his nose before lifting his bag up and searching through it. After a few seconds, he brought out two soldier toys - one with green eyes and bushy eyebrows, the other with blue eyes and glasses. They both wore the same coloured uniforms but with the country flag patterns on them. "I j-just thought that you would like these before you go. T-they took the best part of six m-months to make... so y-you know."  
>With a slightly upset expression on his face, the young nation turned to walk away. Arthur quickly examined the bottom of the figures to see a message painted on.<p>

Arthur stared at the figures with the same green eyes as the figurine, blinking to get past the blurriness of his vision caused by his darn hangover. The messages took a while to become clear in his vision, but when they did he felt more tears stinging his aching eyes.  
>On the bottom of the figurine of him - 'It's cute when the great guy goes small'<br>On the bottom of the figurine of America - 'Independent doesn't mean alone'  
>His little Alfred... no, his strong Alfred, he had made this... for him? His mind flashed to the toy soldiers he had made him so many years previous, and he smiled properly for the first time in over twenty four hours.<br>"America..."

"W-wait, Alfred!" Arthur then called as he ran down the hall after the American. He seemed to have gone, seemed to be absent from the building. England looked around the hallway before finally giving up and walking back to his room, tears forming yet again in the backs of his eyes. Seriously, they needed to stop doing that, it was starting to burn.  
>As he turned to walk through the door, a pair of large arms wrapped tightly around his back and soft hair tickled the back of his neck. "A-Alfred?" England felt the figure nod.<p>

"D-Did... y-you like them?" The younger, albeit taller, nation asked, holding England closer. England's cheeks burned.

"A-Alfred... they were..."

"They were stupid, weren't there?" he sighed, "Sorry, I just thought, I had to do something to apologise for all I've caused you, and your gifts to me as a child, the soldiers and other toys, they were so amazing and such treasures to me, that I... I decided making some for you would be perfect... guess I forget you're not exactly a big kid like I am..."

"A-Alfred..."

"Sorry Artie... about all of it... especially yesterday... I... I had no idea how bad it was, I mean, I knew this day was a pretty bad one for ya... but not that much! I'm an idiot..."

"Alfred..."  
>"But I really can't-" England cut him off with the only thing that he knew he could do to shut him up, other than shoving a scone down his throat. The younger nation had a shocked expression on his face when Arthur pulled away, causing him to feel guilty, and, in all honesty, rather scared of the consequences. He swallowed he growing lump in his throat and tried to avoid America's eyes.<p>

"They were perfect, beautiful, amazing. I wish I could have actually crafted something for you for your birthday, but I couldn't bring myself to get anything, knowing full well that it wouldn't be good enough... Thanks." He entered the hotel room, shut the door without locking it, and sat on the end of the bed.

"Artie..." America's face lit up as he opened the door and entered the room, suddenly tackling his old protector onto the bed and hugging him tightly, "I'm so glad you liked them!"

"Wh-Whoa America!" The still very hungover Brit exclaimed as he was tackled, "W-Watch it! I don't need concussion on top of a hangover!"

"B-but you know you secretly want a cuddle to help to get rid of the hangover. The younger nation's eyes flashed with excitement. "Either that or a play fight..." A smirk crept to his lips, leaving England slightly shocked by the sudden mood change.

"N-No way, not fighting! That would not help! God you big child!" Arthur yelled, even if soon he stopped and gripped his head, "God this Hangover is very bad... the worst I have ever had..."

"Dude, no wonder!"

"Excuse me?"  
>"I found you, last night, laying in glass! There was hardly any liquid on the floor, and the floor was covered by about an inch of glass..."<br>England's body tensed. Was that nightmare... really a nightmare? Or did it really happen? "W-was I awake when you found me?" Alfred nodded and laughed.  
>"Dude, you were completely off your head!"<p>

Crap... it wasn't a nightmare... wait... so...!

"O-Oh..."

"Dude, you okay?" Alfred asked, then thinking: _Does he remember what I said?_

"I have a splitting headache, of course I'm not!" England barked, trying to avoid the subject, he was off his head for certain that night, he was right about that, maybe he imagined what he said to him?

"That's not what I meant, man!"

"What did you mean then?" Awkward silence.  
>"Y-you remember last night, don't you...?" Arthur blushed deep red. How the hell does he...?-! "W-well, it's true... what I said... I-it was all true..." America looked away, a deep red covering his cheeks, too.<p>

"R-R... R-Really?" Arthur stuttered, touching his lips where he had been pecked the night before, going deeper red. He must look as red as the stripes of their flags by now!

"Yeah, really dude, even I know not to joke about this stuff..." America replied with a grin, a soft grin. He touched his own lips as well, then swapped their hands over to touch the other's.

"A-Al..."

"Mm?"  
>"I-I...I l-lo..."<br>"Artie, I love you..." England felt himself blush deeper, if that were even possible. He grabbed Alfred's chin and moved their lips closer - only a teasing few millimetres away.  
>"I-I love you too..."<p>

Their lips connected properly for the first time, and they did so with extreme love and passion, both moving their lips against the other's eagerly, the older being pushed against the bed as America wrapped his arms around him and leant down against him.

"A-Alfred..." England murmured, knotting his fingers in the sandy hair of the younger nation, "You bloody git... why couldn't you have said soon?" He deepened the kiss.

"Even a hero can get nervous, Artie..." America murmured back, before pulling back and sticking his tongue out in disgust.

"What? Am I that bad at kissing?"

"No! Your breath tastes of dodgy alcohol!"

England tried to stop himself from laughing - of course it would taste of alcohol. The last week had been dedicated to the bloody stuff!  
>"Do you want me to go brush my teeth?"<br>"Nope, I'll live with it. Besides, it'll kill the moment." The younger nation kissed him again, pushing his tongue forward to lick gently at Arthur's lips.

Arthur's eyes rolled behind his eyelids, kissing him back and opening his mouth, letting the younger slip in his tongue, making his own dance and touch and fight with it, a mini war in their mouths.

"Alfie..."

"Artie..."

"I swear, I forgive you now, but you even think of leaving me agai-...!"

"Don't even think about it! Why would I leave you when we're t-together like this?" England went silent. Why would he?  
>"I-I don't know, just s-stay with me today..." America nodded and smiled as he went in for the third time that day.<p>

_Maybe... maybe I can handle July the 4th a bit better now..._ Arthur thought as he pulled the American down into the kiss more.

Unknown to the two, standing right behind the door (which had gotten jammed, trapping the person but giving them a good view), a smiling but now blushing Matthew stood, wishing he could get out of there before more happened.

"Well... at least he's staying a little longer... not that he'll notice me..." The Canadian thought.

"Who're you?"

"...Canada..."

~X~X~X~

**Me: Poor Canada… wonder how much he'll have to see…**

**Highla: Who?**

**Me: Hey, stop being mean to Canada! You do that every time!**

**Highla: *shrug***

**Me: Anyway… she's also uploading this on her account, so… yeah, we might get double readers! Heh! Ya never know! I like this, even if it does have England being all sad, poor Iggy! *giggle* Well, R&R!**


End file.
